All the Things She Said
by ridesawhitebike
Summary: A Brilliant failure, and a Dull success. Two problems; the past and the future. Ok, so it wasn't finished after all...
1. Chapter 1

A couple of days or so ago I decided that I was going to kill myself. I'd hike and hitch, and steal my way to some god forsaken cliff in Northern Scotland, and throw myself into the tall glittering seas there. Let the tides and seals and fishes have their way with me, wash up on some remote beach, all stiff limbed and pink-soft, a bloated version of me to be discovered (or maybe not) by some passing tourist of fisherman. I went to bed that night considerably worse the wear for very expensive vodka, clutching a picture of her to my chest and cried and cried, finally overcome by exhaustion to fall into a disturbed sleep.

Last night, I changed my mind, and determined instead to stay alive. Everything that follows is...just to try to explain why.

First things first, memories, it all starts with memories, and clouds. Making clouds...

Once upon a time in a field in the English countryside Me, Emily and Cook made a cloud. Seriously; an honest to goodness proper white fluffy big 'ole cloud up there in the big blue sky. Back then (when Ems and I were still blissfully, stupidly happy) those sorts of things filled me with delight and awe. We danced and hugged and gawped, and kicked up the still smoking remnants of the flames, as embers scorched our ankles, eyes watering, choking, laughing and pointing as the vast thing swirled away from us in the warm summer breeze. Sooty lengths of straw smudged our clothes, and we smeared each other's faces with thick black streaks like commandos. The smell clung to our hair and fingers, as we didn't wash properly, giggling like three naughty school kids whilst we had dinner with Em's parents in my ridiculous country house home. We glanced furtively at each other grinning and remembering. I remember later that night as we made love, the smell still in her hair, and the taste of it on her skin.

Now, making a cloud would doubtless depress me, something black, ominous, something to block out the sun, cast a shadow.

It feels long ago, the cloud day. In reality only 5 short years ago, everything happened so fast, in so much of a blur. I could ask Cook, he always seems to somehow remember more accurately than me when things actually happened. The cloud, however I remember like it was yesterday, we were at the fag end of making our first Album _From There to Here. _It was the end of summer, September? After the harvest, I'm a city girl; I left all the running of that stupid place to the Farm Manager. We had left the others to do something clever with mixers, stuff I tended not to get involved with, and the three of us wandered the field edges, watching the crows tumbling in the sky, whirling and dipping. They used to burn of the stubble with petrol soaked rags towed behind tractors, and they'd left a couple of acres to do in the morning, still slightly stoned, we done the job over ourselves, well Cook drove, and Em and me threw petrol randomly out the back of the cab over the crew-cut stubble.

And we set fire to the lot with my Zippo. Stood there watching as the field corner went up with a audible "whoomp" watched, wiping the sweat from our brows, smoke and flames filling the sky, and I ran along the edge to try to be close to it, all the while Em followed me striding, arms crossed face gleaming, watching me. Rabbits darted out of holes, Cook got momentarily worried as the flames arched up fiercely, and threatened to engulf us, I was too taken with whole thing to notice. The flames made me squint; I felt the heat on my face. Alive. I felt Alive.

When the flames began to die back, reaching the edge where we stood, Em's looked up and saw it first, a thunderhead of white crowned the vast fist of brown smoke underneath it. It towered over us, slowly drifting away with all the other fluffy white clouds. I was amazed, I stood, mouth open, just...amazed by what we'd made. Even when it started to take the shape of a mushroom and we all I think, even Cook, made the obvious comparison as it drifted over the neighbouring village, but it was beautiful. I grinned, laughed, I looked at her, she was beautiful, gorgeous, sweet Emily. Mine.

Normally I'd have _used_ it, made it into a song or something, but at the end of that album, I was sick of songs, especially my own, and besides the whole thing was supposed to be a bit of a holiday after the main part of the recording had been done, Can't fool the old subconscious though, but it was only later that I realised that I did use it after all.

Later on tour the idea of the cloud was exploited, and stage set expense be damned, took ages to get right, and I remember the look on her face as I robbed just one more piece from us to be used for something it was never intended for, watched her eyes moisten once again because of something stupid that I'd done to us (or later the memory of us). It wasn't the first time I mined that rich seam of emotion to my own ends, and I knew deep down it wouldn't be the last either.

But not then, then I was happy, things were different than.

And God Almighty, it seemed so easy, living, music, the playing, and the songs.

_Why do you bite me on the shoulder? _

_Why do you scratch me on my back?_

_Why do you always have to make love, _

_Like you're making an attack _

_Emily do you love me?_

_I asked her one morning, _

_Yes, indeed I do, said she, _

_And loved me without warning._

I was almost proud of them, the lyrics that seemed to come so easily. I could have chosen...No, I'd be too embarrassed.

Wow, what a couple of days, from certainty of death, to the uncertainty of continued life, not to mention a new and doubtless, perhaps crazy scheme to grasp whatever the hell it is I need. Happiness? Maybe. Absolution? Certainly.

**OooooO**

Three twenty in the morning according to the watch I bought today. My eyes are sore and gritty. The City Sleeps. Maybe I should go and find coffee. Funny how quiet even cities are this time in the morning, I can hear quite distinctly the revving of a truck engine on the overhead motorway, it's sound bouncing off the walls and underpasses as it goes.

Three twenty one, if the watch is right, two and half hours to wait. Can I bear that? I supposed I'll have to, it's the least I can do really, wait a little longer. Five minutes to get ready, then fifteen to the station, call it half an hour. That leaves only two hours to wait. Or I could leave earlier. Might be a cafe open, or a hamburger van selling coffee to the last of the club goers. I could go for a walk, but no, I want to sit here in my preposterous tower looking out over the city, thinking over the last 5 years. Get up, and go and maybe, hopefully never come back. 5 years...Doesn't time fly when you're having fun?

Three twenty three, fucking hell is that all? Doesn't time...oh no hang on, I've done that. I used to have a very expensive exclusive watch that Emily...no Jas, bought me. She got fed up with me asking other people what the time was; embarrassed on my behalf. I grew up – I ended up grown up. Lacking all the standard props that normal people end up with, purse, watch, driving licence, and not just the props but the mental hardware to deal with it all, and make use of them, and even when I had to, it still all felt alien, and never really part of me. I used to ask roadies all the time, how long to we go on. Even with a Gucci handbag, I'd still stuff fivers and tenners into pockets.

Hopeless, just a hopeless case: always have been.

I stick to plastic money these days, which if you're sufficiently well off, is a God-send for idiots like me. Always hated phones, always "losing" them, drove Em nuts. Don't have one now, not even a land line in the house (not that you could call this ridiculous pile a home). No TV, no computers, I'm screenless.

Oh God, what am I doing? Why am I asking myself now, for fuck sakes, I don't know. Limited attention span, that's the problem, industry standard three minutes (as in _Single_, as in _Track_, and in _Mind_, or concept album...whatever)

Three twenty-five, Jesus time is actually slowing down. The city sleeps on, and no one to talk to. Wish I could drive, always meant to learn, just never got round to it, and went too quickly, to heedlessly from not being to afford to run a car, to chauffeuse for the succession of large expensive follies I collected. I seriously thought about learning to fly...that sort of crazy stuff though I left to Keef.

He did all that, all the fast cars planes Crazy Keef the mad drummer. Roped me in to all sorts of mad shit, which made what eventually happened all the more ironic. And hard to bear. Although I have a lot that's hard to bear. With sufficient practice you can almost...get used to it.

Sara? Shall I probe that particular wound? _Angel_ I thought when I first heard you sing. That mouth, those lips. I lost you too, turned my back, condemned you. Judas to the last.

I always knew I'd amount to nothing in the end. Always the misfit, and never really comfortable with it. I just figured it was my one chance to be as successful a misfit as I could. Give the bastards a run for their money, y'know? I was just lucky I fell into a world where they heaped money onto misfits who could more or less behave themselves...providing they had something to give in return, of course.

Keef, Mike, Sara, did I look as stupid and awkward to you as I felt to myself? Worse probably. Deep down I never did give a damn what others thought of me, but somehow I still worried like hell about it. I never expected to be loved, but I never wanted to hurt anyone either and that meant trying to be nice and kind and generous and generally behaving like I was desperate to be loved. It could never work.

Here I sit in my blasphemous tower, perhaps one of the few awake, looking out over a sleeping city, waiting for a certain train, and contemplating doing –very possibly- something very very stupid. Nothing to do with Anna Karenina...Life remember?

My hands are actually shaking. I'd kill for a cigarette. Not in reality, obviously I wouldn't kill a human for a fag that would be grotesque. I'd kill...a plant? A small worm, something without a nervous system. Come to think of it, maybe a woodlouse...Em used to hate the little crawling things, up to the point when she decided they were baby armadillos, and she found she could put up with them after all. Good grief.

Gave up smoking though, maybe I should go out and find a petrol station. Just nerves. Drink...drink drink drink...keeping my mind off that is harder. Crates and crates of the stuff in the cellar. Sufficient quantities to fell the population of a small village. A small swimming pool of Vodka. Above that in the Garage lives a collection of various Georgian (the country) agricultural vehicles.

There's a perfect logical reason why I have them.

More words for the song I'm composing in my head...Thank you, Scribble scribble, something to do. Just let them be the right ones, let them be received and understood, not wrong, or incomplete, or false. Otherwise it might be back to plan A. Check the watch. Three thirty, thank fuck for that.

Let's put all of this into some sort of perspective shall we? Order things?

Naomi Campbell, I'm 24 years old, a failure, old before my time, a brilliant failure, and a dull success, I could buy a nearly new 747 with cash if I wanted, but I don't own a pair of knickers without holes in. I made a lot of mistakes that paid handsomely, and a lot of smart moves that I'll regret for the rest of my life. My friends are either dead or fed up with me, or just disgusted, and one of them pushes drugs. On the whole I don't really blame them.

So come on in, join me now down the teeming thoroughfare that is... (you guessed)


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Another farfetched half arsed story, probably badly written, and doubtless ignored. Any resemblance between drummers in fictional bands and writers of poor fanfiction that start with the letter R, are entirely coincidental...probably. I mean, I don't even play the drums.**

...The End.

It's a shit name for a band; I've always always hated it. I was so certain that I could get them to change the name.

Wrong.

I'd never wanted to be in a band, never pranced about my bedroom; hairbrush as a microphone. I listened to music don't get me wrong. It started with my Mums collections of Billie Holliday, and Otis Redding, and in the "Commune Years" it was about the only benefit, the vast and eclectic musical tastes, tapes and CD that would sometimes get left behind when residents left (in a rush sometimes chased by the boys in blue...) so by the time I was 15 I was pretty much drip fed every genre and niche you could think of. I've always written them down, crass teenaged poetry, gash snatches of words that rhymed. I could always hear the music...Always too lazy to learn how to write it down properly, but it was urgent enough that I developed my own notational style, based on graph paper and 24 coloured pencils I got one Christmas. By the time I was 16 there were 40-50? Songs fuelled by long term denial, masturbation, and a seething teenage desire to change the world...Standard fare

Moving to London to go to Goldsmiths I came across the fat folder with them all stuffed inside, mostly the later ones, were about...you know...her. I didn't have a master plan for them, but half a idea to share them with Em, but mostly to stop them falling into the hands of my mother, who'd do who knows what with them.

I knew I never make it as a singer/songwriter, I knew (sort of) that they weren't bad, but I no desire at all to learn any form of instrument and stand Alone and Defenceless and Open on a stage spot lit and blurt them out...Jesus, even now the thought of that brings me out in a cold sweat, which is ironic, given that I've stood on the Pyramid stage on Sunday night at Glastonbury having about 65,000 people sing my words back at me...

I knew I had to find a band, show them my songs, and bingo, they can play, I'd write for them. Plan. It sort of worked, so very nearly...

Emily hadn't wanted to go to the Student Union bar that night to hear yet another band, I'd dragged her out, precious weekend together wasted, and she sulked. It was warm and noisy in the bar; we'd perched on the low dividing wall between the bar and the seating area watching them set up. The End were a 4 piece, standard 2 guitars, bass, drums 3 blokes and a girl, finally they got they equipment set up, him with a fender copy, her a semi acoustic, all new-ish. The lead singer was good looking, slightly short, and her, pretty, in a conventional way. The drummer; skinny black guy, glasses, all nervous energy and bad short afro, tapped his sticks together and they were straight into Ceremony by New Order, as openers go in a Union bar, pretty safe, and they weren't all that bad at all. Bit fast, his guitar was a bit rough at the edges, her rhythm guitar was spot on. But they were streets, no towns ahead of anything else I'd heard. Next a Ladyhawke track, Professional Suicide, and she could sing, bit too polite, classical training...The bass player was mechanical solid. They flowed through some pretty standard cover stuff QOTSA, Led Zep. Then a quick break and a couple of what I supposed were their own compositions. My eyes lit up, all I had to do was find a way in to introduce myself.

_Stood in the street like a sleepwalking teenager  
_

_No.  
_

_And I dealt with this years ago  
_

_I took a hammer to every memento  
_

_But image on image like beads on a rosary  
_

_pulled through my head as the music takes hold  
_

_and the sickener hits; I can work till I break  
_

_but I love the bones of you  
_

_That, I will never escape._

I approached them as they were wrapping up, slightly nervous (who am I kidding, fucking bricking it), not wanting to appear overly impressed, or too standoffish at the same time. The resulting expression was something approaching 'I am at best dangerously drunk, and at worst a clinical psychopath with an obsession with musicians'

"Hi" the guy said, giving me a nervous smile

"I was w-w-w-w-wondering..."

"What?" he smiled again

Jesus, just get it out woman, I thought. The girl comes over and drapes her arms a bit too casually around his waist, "Don't I know you?"

"Do you?" not a face I recognised.

"You were in a politics lecture a couple of weeks ago"

She extended her hand "Sara, this is Mike, " she indicated the guy, her boyfriend I guessed, and that's Steve on the bass, and Keith." She nodded to the drummer, who did that slight chin rise thing that blokes do when they're trying too hard to be casual, but at the same time checking out your tits.

"What did you think?" she asked.

"Good, really good, " I blurted, it was as if the flood gates had opened, I couldn't stop myself, "but the second half needs more practice, you need more, better material, and need to be a bit tighter..."The drummer started laughing carrying off his kit, shaking his head. Jesus the expressions on their faces...There they were being all friendly, and here was this snotty half pissed blonde being all NME on their arses. What must they think..?

Mike gave a sort of half hissed laugh through his nose..."Right, apart from that, all good, right?"

I palmed my forehead, "Fucking hell, sorry...Look I got an idea for you...could I buy you a drink?"

He looked concerned "An idea?"

"I think I've got the songs you need."

**OooooO**

_Still she lies here by my side _

_As I think of you _

_Her eyelids close _

_Her breathing slows _

_It comes and it goes as I'm thinking of you _

_Your mouth on mine _

_Our lips entwined _

_Your little cries _

_Your breathless sighs _

_The promise of something unknown in your eyes _

Sara could read and write music in a way I could only dream of. She gently prized apart my lyrics and rudimentary tunes that I had to hum to her to get her to understand how my code worked. We spent the better half of a morning trying to communicate, finally she started to understand, hours spent on the piano and guitar teasing and testing, did I really mean that? She would ask, talk to herself all the while "Too many words...Doesn't scan...been done...heard that before..."

I wanted to snatch them up, and run.

She closed the piano and brought round the guitar, after the fortieth "tut" and the umpteenth shake of the head, I was starting to wonder what sort of sick punishment I'd let myself in for. Thankfully, finally Keith the drummer showed up. "You all right?"

Sara looked up "Sure"

"Going for a beer, coming?"

We settled in a corner, beers all round, talking to Steve the bass player about his studies that he was worrying over, I caught a snatched "...working on the songs, what did you think?" turning around I saw Sara talking to Mike. "I'll give you a run through later if you want," she turned to me, "That Ok , Naomi?"

It was all I could do to nod, mutely.

"Are they any good though", Mike had asked, bluntly

Sara frowned at his rudeness, "hmmmm...better than our stuff. "

We had a couple more drinks, the Mike announced time to hear the songs, in the car park we headed for Keith's Van. I was asked to be co-pilot, I was quietly chuffed thinking I'd been accepted...Mistake.

60 down a country lane, Keith Turns to me, "take the wheel a minute would you?" He started to take of his jacket. I stared at him, then at the road, walls and hedges flashing past, I over-corrected, aiming us to the low wall, Keith never flinched, and didn't ease off the accelerator. "Keef" Sara intoned from the back, bored "don't be an arse", I could hear Steve tutting.

"I can't drive!" I squealed

"No shit" Keef muttered, "Doesn't show..."

"You'll die Young, Keef" I could hear Mike from the back.

"Just try to die alone" Steve again.

We shared a joint as Sara set up. She sang two of my songs.

Whereupon, my life changed.

She messed up some chord changes, and left out some verses, and words to get it to the right lengths, but she sang it like an angel tearing a million miles of silk...

I hadn't imagined they'd sound like _that. _Sure I could hear the faults, and I knew where stuff had to be corrected, but they were beautiful, and some-one else thought so to, by the way she sang them...

They took about 6 songs to rehearse with, and in three weeks were ready to launch them on an unsuspecting audience, they did a slot as warm up for a more or less well known indie group doing the Uni. Circuit, and importantly there were getting attention from some major record labels.

The set was a stormer, they went down better than the main band, they could have played for another hour, but their manager was making hand gestures from the side of the stage. By the time I got to them backstage, I was there about the same time as an enthusiastic A&R manager...

**OooooO**

"...we're going to be fucking rich and famous" I swung Emily around the small flat, I was high on the gig.

She eyed the drink I'd poured her "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Yep," I smiled lopsidedly "then I'm going to have my wicked way with you."

We lay on the bed after, trying to focus after one too many drinks, as Emily tried to roll a cigarette; she was using my back as a table. I was rambling " ...he's bringing up a contract, he couldn't believe the songs."

"hmmm." She murmured gently, hands not really trying too hard to roll a fag, wandering a bit to low...

"Oh and I've got to learn the bass." I wriggled.

Suddenly she pays attention. "Naomi, you can't play a thing." Hands stop, shit.

"Yeah, Steve's going to a different Uni to study music."

Hands resume, "you'll have to practice loads..." a small giggle

"Jesus Em, you're like a teenage boy..."

**OooooO**

They asked for more songs, enough for an album, I gave them another four songs. This gave 'us' now that I was installed as the fledgling bass player more credibility with the record companies, enough material for an album. They even made me do an audition, the bastards. I'd not wanted this, but I'm no more immune from flattery than anyone else, and I gave in. As long as no spot lights were ever shone on me... The serious offers started coming in after a round of successful gigs around London pubs. Sony got the dubious distinction of signing us eventually, a three album deal. I was learning fast, I might not need any help for the next batch of songs. The first songs were split three ways, the second and third albums weren't covered by the deal, it was the single smartest moves I'd ever made in my life, possibly given the experience, the only one in fact. Must have been a mistake.


	3. Chapter 3

We were left in a sort of limbo after the recording of _From here to There, _we practiced, rehearsed, got kicked out of the large Country House (after the cloud making episode) Em and I drifted back to Bristol, back to my Mum's where bless her, she fulfilled the role of clichéd rock star mum to the full as she worried about me not having a proper job, and leaving Goldsmiths.

In order to pass the time Em and I went House hunting, finally finding a converted windmill on the edge of the Chilterns, it had been used in the filming of Chitty Chitty bang Bang, a suitable fantastical film for what we hoped would be our very own fantasy. Looking back I think I spent a total of 2 weeks there. I still own the place, went back a while ago, it stuck out on the hill like a single rotten tooth in a bleak gum. I couldn't even bear to look through the windows. Neither of us could drive, so being stuck out in the middle of the countryside meant logistical problems, we were given the use of a driven car.

Her name was Jasmine, Ems could smell trouble from a mile off, I was blind to it.

The only advantage to the place in the Chilterns was the pub a short walk down the hill, it was perfect, we'd run down shrieking holding hands, drink past closing time, stagger back up. Em was quiet for a bit one night as we rambled our way home.

"You don't know what you want to do, do you?" she smiled at me

We were walking up a shallow trench deep in leaves, kicking them out in front of us.

"What" I said "Of course I do. I know exactly what I want."

"What then?"

"Well..."

"Ha! See."

No, C'mon be fair, I'm thinking"

"Oh dear, you think that's an excuse?"

"Hey, stop giving me such a hard time here..."

"Oh, well I'm sorry."

"...I want...I want to change the world..." Arms out spinning, shouting.

She stops, "Oh, I see, well good, that'll make a change. For the better I hope?" she strides on

I stop myself. "Em" I frown. "I'm not just in it for the money, y'know? _No Lesson For Us_ there's a message in that song. "

"Commercial." She shouts over her shoulder "Album track...Don't kid yourself, Naomi."

"Jesus, when did you get so cynical?"

She turned to look at me, half smile on her face. "Me cynical?"

All of sudden a wind blew up from the valley below, swirling and stirring the golden brown leaves around us, the wind shifted, settled, and steadied, the leaves began to move, and as we began to walk the leaves moved with us, at our pace, slowly uphill like a river running backwards, so for a moment we appeared to walking and standing still at the same time. It was magical, something so powerful and odd I could never express it. It remained ours, something we shared, alone. I remember taking far too many drugs (courtesy of Cook, he continued to have his uses), dancing, making love that Autumn. I thought, _this is the life_

Do you blame me?

Some bands strive for success, driving up and down the motorways for years playing back street pubs continuing line up changes, finally releasing a self funded album bought by hundreds of fans, others have success with video, or one song, burst into life, fade just as rapidly. Our break came courtesy of the good old BBC. A tie in with a drama that caught the public's imagination, they used a track from the album in a crucial scene, and it caught like wildfire. It was hastily remixed as a single, released, and it sold. And sold, and sold and sold...The royalty cheques started coming shortly after. Steady big locomotive numbers at the front with several carriages worth of zeros following close behind...

I should have been happy, right? There's always a catch, a reverse, a throw of one to balance the throw of six. The song they chose, _Thinking of You_ was a song I'd written about my adulterous affair with Sophia...I can hear the sharp intake of breath from here...To make matters worse the original title of the track (Treachery, suitably un-ambiguous, I'm sure you'll agree) was changed on the album to _Thinking of you_, slightly less than ambiguous... I never knew why I agreed to the change. The lyrics didn't help, lying in bed thinking of you... Poor Em, it was everywhere, on the telly, on the radio, everything she turned on. I would grimace, smile apologetically at her, turn of whatever offending appliance was playing it, and wait for the storm. No one ever asked her if it was OK, least of all me, she relived that terrible moment of her life over and over while the general public loved every minute, and I got rich.

On the back of it, the Album sold in far better quantities than we could ever have hoped for, and the critics were kind, 42 minutes, 10 tracks of good solid stuff , couple of hits, one stand out massive No. 1, only bits of filler. We were given a manager, and tours and gigs were sorted. It all seemed so easy...

Sara was beginning to develop a new style, at gigs she slowly began to come out of her shell, the polite voice was replaced with one more (I hesitate to use the word) raunchy, but it sprang to the mind of every-one listening. I assumed she was getting training, and said as much to Cook as we sat in the studio one day.

"Nah, all she need was a good fuck."

I spat my coffee, I'd assumed her and Mike had been at it like rabbits since I'd met them, the whole idea of her and Cook seemed objectionable to me...and not solely because shockingly, I found I was...jealous. _Asshole_, I remember thinking at the time.

**OooooO**

_Wednesday morning at eight o'clock as the day begins  
Silently closing our bedroom door  
Leaving the note that she hoped would say more  
She goes downstairs to the kitchen clutching her handkerchief  
Quietly turning the backdoor key  
Stepping outside she is free._

We started recording _Nife_ in the following spring, and somewhere in between the finish of the recording and the promotional tour, she left me.

There wasn't a big fight, no histrionics, no recriminations, she just left. I wasn't even there when she went. I can't say I really blame her, I was never there any way, Jasmine would come to pick me up from whatever hotel we were staying in or the house, I'd rehearse or record all day (sometimes all night as well), take drugs, drink, stagger home fall into bed, repeat. It was shit for her. One night I came home to a cold darkened house, I found her note, read it, screwed it up and threw it away (to my eternal shame) _Fuck her_, I thought. Such arrogance shames me now.

I never spoke to her again...Actually that's a lie.

This is my confessional, right? This is my one chance? My 'come to Jesus' moment? Oh well here goes... The cover of _Nife_, you know that black and white picture of the girl? The one I always said wasn't Emily? Well...Big non-surprise, of course it was her. I denied it at the time, but I'd even taken the picture. In the Windmill, it looks like she just woken, her hair all ruffled, back turned to the camera, slightly see-though tee shirt sun shining through it, you can see the outline of her breast, and her nipple. Another confession? We'd just made love, for the last time as it turned out. I don't know why I decided to take the photo, but the camera was just there by the bed. I didn't even aim, I just pointed it in her general direction and pressed the shutter didn't even look at it till weeks later, and there it was, she looked...beautiful, just stunning. I knew it was the one, I handed it to the art director with a nod, and he just smiled, he knew as well.

It was the morning of its general release, the phone shrill first thing, me hung-over, I reach over the warm body next to me

"Yeah-'lo" I mumbled.

"Naomi [anger], is that you?"

"Yeah, hello, who's this?"

"[sighing, still anger] it's Emily."

"Emily" I sat up.

"Is that me [very angry now]."

"What?"

"On the cover of your fucking album [an intake of controlling breath] is that me?"

"No, it isn't." (Strike one)

"Don't lie to me, Naomi." [A stifled sob, losing it now]

"I swear Emily, it isn't you." (Strike two, careful now)

"You're such a shit liar, Campbell [sobbing, no pretence at hiding it now] don't you think I know my own left tit when I see it? How could you? You just don't know when to stop do you?"

"Emily, I promise it's not you, OK?" (Strike three, you're outta here)

"Who's that, babe" Jasmine of course, wakes

"Who the fuck is that? Was that Jasmine [disbelieving laughter] you're a piece of work Naomi, you know that? Well, I hope it sells fucking millions, and makes you ever so fucking happy". [Phone goes dead]

_Nife_ sold by the millions, literally by the millions.

**OooooO**

We promoted it heavily, European tour, UK tour, far Eastern tour, finally US tour. Far too much has been written about all that, what we represented, where we fitted in, what we stood for. We started to get mentioned in the same breath as huge global bands. No, we were a brand... We had, dare I say, class? We were a band whose gimmick was...music, we could play and Mike and Sara could sing, and for my sins I could write lyrics, and a decent tune. We just ended up putting together the music differently, unusual chords, strange layers of sound. Thing was I was just trying my hardest to sound like every-one else I'd ever heard, those were my attempts at being normal. I just kept getting it wrong, that's all. Tunes that people could remember and hum to themselves. Lyrics that picked people up, or sent shivers down their spines, music they could plunk out on their keyboards or strum on their own guitars.

_The End_ was out grossing some small countries for fuck sake. But most of us had no fixed abode; I had to ring my lawyers once to find out where I was supposed to be living. None of us were domiciled in the UK. Tax reasons of course, I think technically we lived in LA for the second half of the year, but it may well have been the Cayman Islands for all the difference it made. Mostly we stayed at Keef's place on Naxos. It had the benefit of no telephone, and no press.

"We need more Sound, man"

I could hear Mike and Keef arguing on the terrace outside my bedroom.

"What?" keef was incredulous "are you fucking mad, we can knock small buildings over with the sound system we've got now, we're registering as low yield underground weapons tests already. Right now we use more electricity that some African states generate, Christ almighty have you seen the size of our speaker stacks? They're like office blocks, people live in them. There's a 10 man squat in Naomi's bass stack, we only found out when they applied for a permanent sewer."

Mike was laughing, so was I in my room, when Keef got going, there was no stopping him, "Calm down Keef, stop exaggerating."

"You want to saddle us with law suits from millions who're going to lose their hearing, and you think I'm exaggerating?"

I got up, slipped on a pair of shorts and a tee shirt, out onto the terrace, blinded by the sun, "Shit, shut up you two, will you?"

Keef turned to see me, "Hey, we're going to pick up Cook and Jasmine, they've just flown in, coming? "

He meant in the ridiculous float plane he'd just bought. I blanched at the idea, "No chance, I'm going to stay here and expose my pale body to the blistering sun, if You find my crispy remains, tell my mum I loved her, OK?"

They waved as they left still arguing, I could hear Keef from the jetty. "You've cornered the market in hearing aids, right? And this is a cunning plan to drum up business."

I smiled. Love him.

I was stretched out on a lounger by the pool half asleep, when I heard her come down and sit by the pool, I squinted through my sunglasses as Sara stretched, arching her back, arms in front, then up over her head, she was wearing a long tee shirt, it rode up, briefly exposing her blonde pubic hair. I cleared my throat as she pulled down her tee shirt.

"Been asleep?"

"Oh, it shows?" she smiled.

Conversation paused, _well_ I thought, _this is awkward all of a sudden._

She slowly drifted off to sleep, after a short while; she re-opened her eyes, "Can't seem to stay awake."

"I have that effect on people." I smiled at her

"No, I'm just very very tired, she paused.

"It's been a tough tour." I suggested

"Beer?" she said suddenly, and got up. I nod.

She came back two minutes later with a couple of beers, bikini bottoms on, handed one to me, went and stood over by the low wall build onto the cliff down to the narrow beach below. She peers over the edge. "Can you get down to beach from here?"

It took us 40 minutes to get down, the steps were only just manageable, and the rucksack full of the picnic that I'd raided from the fridge was heavier than I'd thought, but we finally made it. She sat heavily on the beach. Finally.

"D'you know what we've been doing for the last couple of weeks here, Naomi?"

"Erm, relaxing?"

"Trying to Mike off smack for good."

"Ah, right," I paused. I knew he been taking stuff, didn't realize it had got quite as out of control. I sat there and listened as it poured out of her, how she'd discovered things about herself, and about Mike, how she'd gone from talking to shouting and screaming threatening him with the police, how she felt responsible, that he could hurt her still with them use of it. Hate, rage, finally throwing out all his old clothes and simply not letting him out of her sight.

"And now Cook's coming." She added quietly at the end.

I felt like shit. I put my arm across her shoulder, and her head fell against me. After a time, she said, quietly,"Naomi I'm going for a swim, coming?"

"I didn't bring a costume, "I blurted out, _fuck sake not again._

She was already down by the beach, already undressed; naked, "Come on the water's warm. "

She tasted of the champagne we'd been drinking.

**OooooO**

Keef and Mike came back around tea time, and the party (without smack) got underway. I sat heavily on the low wall, seriously the worse for wear, looking out of the darkness at the waves crashing below, "we need more light out here Keef" I said suddenly, "There's too much darkness."

"More light?" he said it in a strange tone that made me turn to look at him, "I think we can fix that." Follow me, Naomi."

I followed him out past the pool to the lawn, out of the range of the house lights, "Sit there" he said. "Look over there." I could hardly see where he was pointing, over by the rocks at a lower part of the cliff; it was so dark I couldn't see a thing.

"I'll just be a minute, Ok?"

"OK." I sat and watched as slowly my eyes adjusted and I could pick out tiny details. There was a sudden buzzing noise, and the rocks lit up, flashing blue white. The surf incandesced brilliant white; it happened again and again as a machine gun fire of stuttering light bursting from a set of industrial strobe lights. They picked up the surging billows of the surf and chopped them into single frames, images of utter clarity, punctuated with a darkness you could almost hear. Waves rolled in, in stop motion, detonating against the rocks in freeze frame sequences.

"Oh...Wow!" I said mouth hanging open, I looked along the edge of the surf to see how far out the effect went, and saw Cook almost out of range, almost back into his jeans, running up the beach. In the shadow, for one instance of light before she ducked back into the darkness, I saw Sara's head and shoulders.

I shook my head "Fuck sake, you could have _said_ something "I muttered to myself. The light show went on, Keef came back and sat next to me, passing me a joint.

"What d'you think, man?"

"Impressive," I said, "Very impressive". Took a long hit, flicked the stub away into the darkness, it flickered in the strobe. "Seen Jasmine?"


	4. Chapter 4

Yes, it's like sex. The live act, the Performance.

We'd always been OK, never really bad at it, by now we were very good. I always thought I was the weak link, mostly just standing there playing basic Bass, occasionally tapping my foot, but according to a lot of people who know better than me, I was the base as well, something the others could build on, the foundation. Well that's what they say, I think it's over analysed, we were good and popular. End of Story, and so what?

But it is like sex. Of Course. The nervous waiting in the wings, getting out there and doing it, under the bright darkness of the lights you can hide in. The build up tension, the slow engorging of the venue, the heat the obsession that you and the audience share, the same fixation and anticipation. Oh, you enter into it, you become part of it, you can usually hear it, you can always sense it, you can _taste_ it.

Sometimes you come on all in a rush, sound and fury, straight in, no kissing; sometimes you drift on, one by one, catch the audience unawares, pretending to be road crew, or sound engineers fiddling with the gear on stage, start playing almost casually. The nerves fading away, the beat settling in, taking over, fast slow, fast fast slow, like a heart beat racing and slowing. Mike or Sara talking, or shouting, or joking with the crowd, both of them at the epicentre of it all.

To the climax, to the big finish, chanting, the encores, the swaying crowds, the stamping feet, the fetish of which old track we'd play. We were past masters. We got told once that one of the songs we routinely finished with used the same chords as the Beatles track, _I Want You,_ so we incorporated that into the set, 3 minutes of the same phrase repeated over and over; it's brutal, it grows and grows, a screen of white noise that gets louder and louder and more and more hypnotic, and then just cuts, the rush was almost like coming...

Then Sara and I would come on and do a small acoustic set, just the two of us, a couple of songs to settle the fevered brow, a touch of tenderness, like post coital breathing. A hug before sending them off buzzing into the night. Lyrics ambiguous. My sexuality never a secret, sharing a mike, we'd do old favourites, sometimes I even sang (god help me). Did those songs at those moments mean anything to us after that day in Naxos? Or were we cold heartedly manipulating the emotions of our audience? I'll let you decide.

Oh, before you do, bear in mind that a recently released album of our live acoustic performances was the biggest download iTunes have ever had, and crashed a server bank...

Sometimes you though you could go on forever and never stop, sometimes you wanted it never to end, I never did really work out who was using who's energy, who was on top, so to speak, sure they paid, but we always gave them their money's worth, and this was from my perspective, standing at the back with Keef, just playing, what it must have been like for Mike and Sara, the binary stars at the epicentre of it all, standing at ground zero of our self created storm, I can't even imagine.

The crowd did frighten me a little sometimes, the crush, the sheer weight of them, for a while it was exhilarating, but after a few tours, it began to get to me.

**OooooO**

"Are you sure this is safe Keef?" I asked as he firmly strapped me into the front seat of his latest toy, an aerobatic light plane, all engine, and short wings, sleek and white. He handed me a headset, and as I put it on, he reached down, and plugged it in, I heard him tinny, through his mike;

"Yeah, 'course, stop worrying."

We taxied, bouncing roughly over the grass of the airstrip, Keef pushed the throttle forward, and the acceleration took my breath away, I let out an unintentional "Jesus"

"Is nowhere to be seen." Laughed keef from the back seat then, "You ready?" before I could answer, he flicked us over and we flew upside down seemingly just metres from the ground, nerves already shredded, I closed my eyes briefly, fighting the urge to cover the canopy with my breakfast. "We've got to get you a steady girlfriend" I muttered darkly.

"Never work, I'm in love already, have been for years." Replied Keef, as he righted the small plane, then banked it over in a hard turn, I was pressed into the seat. Shit, I forgot about the mike.

"Really?" I answered as the plane levelled off and started to climb , I'd not seen him with any girl for more than 5 minutes, he was continually in and out of the Red Tops, a string of celebratory models and Singer/actress/whatever's on his arm. "Who's the lucky girl, then?"

"She doesn't know" he replied after a small pause, then another "Ready?" and again the plane was forced into a tight spiralling dive, my hands instinctively bracing against the canopy.

"Fucking hell, stop doing that." I could hear his answering cackle from behind me without the aid of the headset. We climbed again, and then steadied out, turning and diving gracefully through the clouds. I probed "C'mon, who is it, then?"

There was no answer.

"Keef, " I turned around. His face unreadable covered by shades, and the bulk of the mike boom. Then quietly;

"You."

_Oh shit_ "Keef, I'm..." he interrupts;

"Gay, I know," he paused, "Don't panic, Naomi, I'm sorry, you were never supposed to find out, I'd just , y'know admire you from afar, It's fine really, I'm used to it..." he paused, laughed briefly, "Cheryl Cole's got nicer tits than you anyway..."

"Keef..." I didn't know what to say to him.

"Does this mean we can't be friends?" he asks nervously

"No, course not, Keef." I turned, trying to look at him, and accidently knocked the throttle back with my sleeve, the engine splutters and before Keef can catch it, it dies, and the prop stops; the plane's nose rears up, and we teeter, uncertain, I look at him in panic, he shrugs, and the small plane quickly whips into a spinning dive, I scream. Keef kicks the rudder, and we straighten, I'm completely disorientated, but before I know where we are, I see the small airfield under our nose, and Keef brings the plane in gracefully to land bumping solidly along the grass runway. As we stop he unlatches the canopy and the sweet morning air finally proves too much for my poor stomach, and throwing up as you laugh with relief is as technically difficult, as it is respiratorially unwise.

"You'll be the death of me, Naomi." Sighed Keef, as I painted the side of his nice new plane.

_we'd sing in the doorways,  
or bicker and row  
Just figuring how we were wired inside  
Perfect weather to fly._

Five weeks later in Miami, involuntarily true to that statement, I really did kill him.

You want it in a nutshell?

Phht. Dribble. Crack. Whee. Crash, Spash. Zzt, Beeeeeep.

The beep was Keef dying. Dead. It went like this;

We'd been playing around with the cloud machine. Its replacement used dry ice, fans, water, and laser and light show, we'd practiced with it, but it was always touch and go. The gig was hot, I was sweating, even more than usual, the atmosphere was weird, the audience…strange. There was weird resonance, the equipment feedback greater than usual, I was professional enough by this point to ignore it, and carry on regardless. The moment came when the cloud machine was supposed to be turned on, the lights worked, the cloud didn't, we carried on. Unknown to us the weight of water now being fed into the back of it was more than the support could cope with, and the whole lot came crashing down onto the stage. Because the dry ice machine had blown a fuse, and because of the humidity the water sluiced down the stage in an impressive bow wave, prettily lit by the lasers and lights, and it must have touched an exposed wire to some of Keef's electronic drum pads, and promptly electrocuted him.

Lasted 2 maybe 5 seconds at most, I'm sure there's some sick fucker with a film of it on YouTube who's measured it to the nearest nano second. We ran to him, and Mike gathered him up, and carried his blue, unconscious but at that point still breathing body to the side of the stage, the ambulance was called for, but never made it, Crowds too deep, we got him to a car, and even with Mike standing on the roof shouting at the top of his lungs "Get out of the fucking way" …it did nothing, said nothing, the swarming chanting crowds closed around the car and it's quietly unminding cargo like antibodies around an infection. I hated crowds after that.

We all thought the stupid stunts would get him, the cars or the planes, but he was always in control of that, he was never in control of my need to rip out memories and exploit them for my own needs.

_Before leaving get to the bar  
No one round here makes you pay  
Never very good at goodbyes  
So gentle shoulder charge  
Love you mate_

**OooooO**

The Final Kicker to all this was that we were half way through our last contracted album, and they made it clear in no uncertain legal terms that they expected it finished. I remember the meeting at the record company HQ, our manager couldn't even look at us, Sara and I sat numb, her with red rimmed eyes, his funeral had only been a couple of days previously, and now we were having this meeting. Fuckers. We completed it, with a series of well known drummers from either bands that we knew and trusted or old boys from defunct Rock bands eager to make a comeback on our tails, I'm pretty certain the record company was keeping an eye financially on all the comings and goings. The Album finished, _Them and Us, about_ a strong a protest as they'd allowed us, we promoted it half-heartedly, by this time Mike's drug habit was back out of control, my Audience paranoia was in full flight, I'd need strong tranquillisers just to get to the stage, and whenever I'd look over at the drums to get a nod, or expect to see Keef's crouched and hunched form, I'd see some long haired Rock behemoth, I was freaking out. The tour over, I bolted for the exit without looking back.

I've never listened to the album. It sold well. It went platinum. It was my turn to go and receive the disc, all handshakes and drinkies. I smashed it out of its frame when I got home, and out of curiosity I played it. It was some French Folk group. They weren't even on the same record label as us...

And that, folks, was very much the end of that.

end of (a) story.

**OooooO**

It was known locally as the Anti-church. A Victorian folly built by some deranged devil worshiping crack pot. It was all gothic towers, fake graveyards, and weird and bizarre anti Christian imagery. I fitted straight in. It had extensive cellars, and was spread over 5 floors. I installed all my ill gotten gains, all the drink and relics of the trade, mixing desks, studio in the main living area. Cook came to see me occasionally and let me cry on his shoulder, he kept me up to date with the gossip in the industry, and the comings and goings of Sara and Mike. I did, as a favour to our old manager, who struck out on his own after the treatment we'd received, a Solo album of stuff I had laying about, half finished The End tracks, and some off casts. _Personal Notice_ I didn't promote it or tour it. Other than that I drank, played around with my studio, and looked out the window. I gave no interviews, my lawyers had a cover story that I lived in retreat on some Island in the Med, if that didn't put the reporter off the scent, they were told that I was in fact dead. It upset my mother.

The doorbell rarely rang. I was in the kitchen (3rd floor) it took a while to get to the door, it was unrelenting, therefore it must be... I open the door;

"Naomikins"

Great, Cook...

I saw a pair of feet of a person standing slightly behind him, she stepped out from his shadow, some-one I'd never thought I be happy to see: Effy.

She smiled at me, "Naomi."

It was like coming home.

I led them through the garage, Effy stared at all the machinery as Cook explained. "Played in Ukraine..."

"Georgia." I corrected

"Sorry, Georgia, they couldn't pay in cash, so we took whatever they had: Vodka, farm tractors, only Naomi insisted on the tractors."

"You can have a go, if you want, they all work " I said over my shoulder.

I made some lunch, and we sat around my small kitchen and reminisced, and got drunk. We played table tennis in the end of the garage, Cook was sweating.

"You know you should get back out there Naomi, how long's it been now?"

I missed his serve. "Don't Cookie."

"You know, even without touring _Personal Notice_ sold pretty well?"

"Don't" I warned him.

Effy came in after walking around the garage, "Don't what? Naomi, you could float a boat with all the Vodka you've got back there..." She was impressed.

Cook interrupts "C'mon Naomi, you're fucking good, you should get out there, stop sitting around here feeling sorry for yourself, I know what happened to Keef was terrible and Sara's condition is upsetting, but really you should think about it. "

He talked on for a bit, and I pretended to listen to what he said, making the occasional 'uum' or 'ahhh', all the while thinking about he'd said. Sara, Oh Jesus what had happened, I'd been so out of touch, I didn't know how to broach the subject without looking like I didn't know anything, what had they done to her? Had Mike done some something? My imagination failed.

"...Naomi, are you even listening?" Cook stared at me.

"Sorry," I wanted to cry, "I was thinking about Sara, what exactly..." I paused. "I don't hear much."

"Right," Cook paused, "You know about the tumour?

_Oh fuck..._

"It's in her brain, they can't operate, it'll kill her eventually, you should get down to see her.

"Yeah, excuse me." I went to the toilet to cry.

Effy came to get me twenty minutes later, when they started to get worried about me, with them my eyes had been welling, now my eyes went dry, I couldn't shed a tear, it was like some pit sucking it all back in.

They took me bed, and left soon after. I spent the first part of the night curled foetally tight on the floor of my bedroom, then I went down to the cellar, came back with two bottles and drank steadily thinking of my Jonah of a life, I rummaged around some old gear and found a publicity picture of Sara, it was old and faded, but she glowed with life in it. It was then that I decide that I wasn't going to live anymore. And I knew how I was going to do it.

In my drunken state I missed the note that Effy had folded and placed on a table by my bed. I noticed it later only a couple of days later. I opened it; it was an address, NE postcode, somewhere north. Beneath it was written.

"Emily Fitch address. Do something about it."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N. Hope you enjoyed this, idea I've been knocking about with since I wrote Kink ages ago. Might have to sign off for a bit now though**. **Hence knocking it out a bit sharpish. **

**Laters, my loves**

I brushed my teeth, ran a brush through my hair, found an old canvas bag and threw some spare clothes into it. I paused for a moment before nodding once to the reflection in the mirror and dashed down to the cellar, grabbed a bottle of Blue Stolichnaya and hid it amongst the clothes. Emergency rations. I carefully slid the cardboard backed envelope in the side, and made sure the lyrics/poem were safely tucked in an inside pocket. Set.

I took a last look around the old place, feeling happy and sad, and full of a hope I'd not felt in years, but tinged with dread all at once. I stepped outside into the chill dark air. Locked the door behind me, and walked quickly to the station to catch the train, It took just a little over 15 minutes...

The train left on time, and I settled into an empty carriage with a large coffee, the carriage was warm and quiet, and it filled me with an odd mixture of longing and contentment. At York I saw the first hint of dawn in the clear sky. We collected more and more passengers as the day wore on, and I had a sandwich from the buffet trolley. I got a couple of looks, but no one approached me, the sky gradually clouded over as we pushed north.

I got out at the station nearest, and got a taxi to her town on the coast. I asked the driver to stop in the centre of town, I suppose I could have gone straight to her address, but the doubts had been growing the closer I got. This was crazy, I should just get back on the train and go immediately back to my pile in London, Cook was right, just get back out there, and start recording, make money, it's what I do best...Run away.

I sat on a low wall around the town square and watched as the towns folk came and went about their lives, Maybe it was just fear, I knew I wanted to see her, Even if it was just for an hour, a few minutes would do, I had to see her, just to say...oh God, what? I should have pleaded with you not to go all those years ago? Sorry I didn't ask permission? I'm the lunatic that has no soul but a bank account that bulges at the seams and owns an unhealthy amount of alcohol, please take me back?

Insane, insane, insane. And how likely was it she was...unattached? I mean Jesus; she'll take one look at me, and slam the door in my face, or worse, call the police. Probably dating some gorgeous farm girl, nestled in some little remote cottage, happy as lops. But I wanted to see her, I'd come here after all: I couldn't just turn back. Besides, she might find out I'd been here, Gossip in these towns...And how would she feel if she knew I'd been here and not come to see her. I knew it wasn't going to work, you can't just do things like this, and get away with them, this is real life, not some romantic film, where she fling her arms around me and we'd stare at the setting sun together. So why not leave now? With the dream at least a little intact, so I'd never know whether it might have worked? Wouldn't that be salvaging something? That's what the smart money would do, right? I sighed, and slumped, impossible to know what to do for the best. I thrust my cold hands into my pockets, and my fingers closed around a coin. I thought. _If it's heads I stay and look for her, if its tails, I get up find a taxi and go home Call my manager set up a meeting, start my life again. Heads I stay, tails I go_

I bought the coin out, a fifty pence piece, I flipped it, missed the catch, and watched it roll around on its edge on the pavement, it rolled in tighter and tighter circles, it finally fell. Tails

I picked it up, and put it back in my pocket, checked my watch, twelve thirty. I looked around the square, and headed for the nearest pub.

I sat in a corner nursing a half. One thing about tossing a coin to decide on your fate, having made up your mind you'll do what the coin says: It sure as hell lets you know what you really want to do if it says the wrong thing. The pub had a few rooms, I booked a room for the night, left my bag, and carrying my small packages, and armed with directions from the barman, I set off.

I walked for half an hour, it was cold. Finally I stood and the entrance to a small cul-de-sac of indenti-kit little houses. Neat boxes of modern suburbia, flower gardens, a couple of garages, and few cars, I walked around the semi circle looking for her number, and stood at the end of the small path to her door. I must have paused a bit too long as a curtain twitched and an elderly woman stepped out, arms crossed. "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Emily? Emily Fitch?" It was like meeting the ghost of Jenna past.

She looked at me for a moment, deciding on whether I was worthy of imparting her important news. "She's at work, back at six-ish."

"Oh." What had I been thinking? It hadn't occurred to me she'd be at work. Idiot. "Right, I'll call back later."

The Guardian of Fitch nodded, and I trudged back to the pub. I sat in the same seat drinking halves of lager shandies; the last thing I wanted when I saw her was to be drunk.

I am, I realised after my third, (I think) totally selfish even when I'm being selfless. I've come up here, seemingly on a hopeless mission of the heart, and really all I want is absolution, I want Emily at the very least to tell me it's OK, that I'm not really bad. But she's not...Oh God, she's not going to say; stay with me, and be my love again. So stupid Naomi goes looking for her old love, it looks like adventure, but really its hiding, fucking hell, the ways we invent to get away from our responsibilities. The only thinking animal on the fucking planet and what do we spend most of our time trying not to do?

Correct.

Who am I trying to kid? (Answers on postcard to...)

The winter afternoon darkened, I ate in the pub, and eventually retraced my steps back to the cul-de-sac. More cars this time, but her house still in darkness. I decided I'd wait. I sang songs silently to myself.

At a quarter to seven a small car came into the driveway, headlights sweeping around, slightly too fast, it stopped abruptly on the road outside the house. A figure in the driver's seat sat for a long minute, whilst nothing happened. I waited. The door finally opened, and a small voice I recognised called out across the darkened space. "Naomi? What are you doing here?"

I said the first thing that came into my mind. "I was nearby...I thought I'd come and say hello..." I felt a quiet moment of despair, that the first thing I'd said to her in three years was another lie.

She walked slowly, wearily up her path to stand in front of me. She smiled, "Right, so me asking Effy to give you my address has nothing to do with you being here?" her eyebrows arched.

I smile, the cogs of my brain finally catching up. Having her stand so close to me was making me tremble, I was certain she could see me visibly shaking, I was wordless, 12 all over again, I fell in love, heedlessly, stupidly, totally in love in an instant.

Her voice bought me back to reality, "C'mon, I'll put the kettle on, seeing as you've come all this way. "

She ushered me into the small house, and I stood and got in the way as she ducked past me into the kitchen, flicking lights on as she went, and shrugging off her coat. The house was warm, and I wandered through to the lounge. It was neat and small, sofa, single chair, stereo in the corner, no telly. I scanned for signs of anyone else. Pictures; something, anything to confirm my worst fears, as I looked, my eyes fell onto her collection of CD's and I recognised a few instantly. I step closer. They were all there. I ran my finger along them, and only then noticed her copy of _Nife_ was still in its cellophane wrapping. She even had a copy of _Personal Notice_. I reached out and flicked it out of its slot; it fell apart in my hands, the two sides of the case broken along the spine, as they do. The sleeve notes were thumbed, and the CD itself missing. I heard her quietly from the door way;

"It's my favourite, it's in the CD actually, I was listening to it last night"

I made a face, "Really? Why?"

She takes a long breath before answering. "None of the songs are about me are they?"

I shake my head, "No. They're not."

She simply nods, and says nothing.

I look down, and realise I'm still clutching my envelopes. Deep breath, "These are for you."

She takes them and puts the smaller one on the arm of the chair. She smiles uncertainly at me as she peels apart the larger one, and pulls out the full colour version of the cover picture of _Nife. _In the full colour you can see the colour of her hair, you can see how the sunlight captures every single strand, and surrounds her head like a halo, you can see how the light reflects off her skin making it glow, the black and white makes it look sad, the full colour version just takes your breath away.

I watch her as she takes an involuntary breath studying the image closely. She looks up at me, her eyes are moist. "It's beautiful" she whispers hoarsely.

"You're beautiful, " it spills from my mouth before I can stop it.

She smiles sadly at me. "What's this?" she picks up the smaller envelope

"Words, " I reply, "Stuff."

She makes a face at me. "lyrics? A song?"

I nod. Emily shakes her head sadly, and taking the envelope in both hands, rips it into pieces , once twice, three times, and puts the pile of tattered paper on the arm of the chair, she takes a step closer to me "I'm right in front of you, say what you have to say to my face, Naomi."

I stay silent for a long time, I've come three years and a few hundred miles for this, and I'm afraid of the answer. "I need to know if there's a chance..." I stop, of course there's not a chance, I was stupid, and this is stupid.

I feel her hand on my arm. "Naomi, I left because I couldn't trust you anymore. We'd have a conversation on Monday and on Wednesday it was a song on your next album, You never asked, you just took, " she pauses, it's the most she's said, it feels like it's been bottled up.

We stand looking at each other. Both unsure as to what to say. Emily breaks the silence. "I have to go out, I'm sorry"

"Right, of course." Blown it, she's running from you, head home now save both of you from further embarrassment.

She half smiles. "Actually...I said I'd help decorate the school hall, d'you want to come and help?"

"Decorate?"

Her smiles broadens, "Yes, decorate, you know, Christmas decorations?"

"Christmas, right 'course, I knew that."

I hear her mutter.

"Hopeless."

And smile at me.

We head towards the school hall in her car. She turns her head to me. "I thought you must have a car by now, Naomi, You're not travelling by train are you?"

"Um...yes, yes, I am."

"What? No drivers?" The question hangs in the air

"Um...No, just me these days.

"Are you staying in town?" The question comes out of the blue. We pull up to the school and as she parks the car. I answer;

"In the pub in the square, booked tonight. "

"What? The Red Lion? You can't stay there, it's fucking terrible" She turns to me, "Right, stay with me tonight, c'mon I've been telling everybody I know round here that I know a famous rock star, they'll think I don't wash the sheets or something if you don't. "

I say nothing as we walk towards the hall, finally Emily fills the silence, "C'mon I've been trying my damnest to cultivate an image as a deviant for ages, you're the first real chance I've had. "

I haven't a chance to see her expression as she said this, as we're into the bright lights of the hall, full with people standing on chairs and ladders untangling streamers and decorations, and pinning up puffballs, and Santa Clauses, and Snowmen, and there's a small boy on a trike spinning the pedals furiously round the place through and under tables sliding round chairs, and people are laughing, and throwing sticky tape to each other. I'm introduced to people whose names I forget instantly. A shy girl comes over and asks for an autograph. I do what I'm told and then can't find anything else to do, so I stand slightly alone in the midst of all the hilarity and the small boy whizzing about on his trike. I look around trying to see Emily. A voice by my shoulder.

"Drink? You look confused" Emily hands me a plastic cup of cheap wine.

"It's funny, I came all the way to see you, and I'm surrounded by all these people. I don't do crowds"

"Not put off, I hope?"

I shake my head.

Emily takes a deep breath, "Stay over Christmas" her voice is lower, unsure.

I look at her. "Oh...yes. Of Course, If you don't..." I shut up when she grins at me.

"How long can you stay for?" she asks

"Oh, I don't know"...suddenly exhausted by the day. "Kick me out when you've had enough of me."

"Naomi", Emily smiles very seriously at me. "I'd never kick you out of anything." Then she goes back to helping with the decorations.

I lean on the table watching her, and feel it tip. I look down, and look at the legs, I pat my jeans pockets, and find a piece of plastic, and I crack it in half and wedge it under a leg steadying it. It was only after sitting back up I'd realised I'd used my platinum Amex.

I look up again quietly laughing to myself. The small boy goes whizzing past on his trike. Some-one has tied streamers to the handlebars, He's still pedalling hard, skidding under tables, but now he's got streamers of colour swirling after him like a rainbow wake. I catch Emily's eye. She smiles.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Fuck it; even I want to know what happens next.**

We sit in her car as the last of the revellers and decorators leave the car park, it's difficult to tell in the semi –gloom, but I'm pretty sure she's grinning at me. I turn to make some smart half arsed comment, when we both hear the woman walking past the car, talking to some-one on her mobile.

"Yeah, just stood there watching all of us do the work, all fake teeth and tits...Some pop star apparently."

I can sense Emily bristle, and I see her hand move to the car door, I reach over and place my hand on her arm, and she turns to look at me. I shake my head, and she sighs letting out her held breath. After a short pause she speaks; head down looking at her hands in her lap.

"How can you stand that?"

I shrug, "It goes with the territory. You end up with a thick skin y'know?"

She nods and is quiet for a moment. "Pub?" she says, smile restored. She's grinning at me again.

I make a face, shake my head, "It's not..." I leave the sentence unfinished. "Wine? Your place?"

She doesn't move for a moment, and then nods her head in the wobbly way that she does, and says croakily "OK".

We go home via the Pub to collect my bag from my room; I have to let Emily pay as my only source of cash is now a useless folded piece of plastic in my pocket. We make another stop at a late opening supermarket, and I follow her around like a grumbling child as she confidently fills her basket with ingredients for a late supper, I only feel at home when we get the alcohol section, a couple of nice bottles and were back in the car, I annoy her with my endless apologies.

"I'm sorry." I say for the hundredth time." I'm not usually this stupid; I don't normally make a habit of folding my credit card in half...sorry."

"Naoms, stop apologising, " She's laughing at me."It's fine, really".

We drive back to her place, and I carry the bags into the small kitchen as she opens the door in front of me. I place the bags on the counter, and grab one of the bottles of wine. I look around to catch her eye.

"Bottle opener?"

She stops putting food in the fridge for a moment. "Screw top."

I nod, take a deep breath silently admonish myself, and try to calm down a bit. "Glasses then?"

She turns and points to a glass fronted cupboard on the other side of the small kitchen, I take a step over and opening the door, pull two glasses out, the top of the cupboard is covered with framed photos and I study them carefully. I smile as I recognise faces from our past, there's several of Katie and the family. I pick one up of a tall smiling confident looking teenager. "James?"

She nods. "Turned out alright in the end."

I notice one at the back that takes my breath away, and putting James back, reach out to pick it up. I look at her quizzically. "Keef?"

She looks at me, and for a brief moment I can't read her expression. She takes a breath through her nose, obviously weighing the pros and cons of continuing. "He was a good friend to me, this is...was his, this house. Turns out we had something in common. " She smiles uncertainly at me.

I must look confused. "His house? I don't..."

Emily continues "His parents live up the road from here, lovely couple; he bought this place when he couldn't stay at home anymore...The fans, the weirdoes."

I nod, I know what she means. "I met them at his funeral, his parents." I take a large gulp of wine, steadying my nerves. Please, not him and her...

"He let me stay here", she's continuing, "I had nowhere to go, after...y'know."

"You were here all the time?" I don't know what to do with this revelation.

Emily reaches out to the bottle and filling her glass takes a large drink before going on, "It was only supposed to be short term, but I got a job, made friends, y'know?" She pauses, casts her eyes downwards, "he left it to me in his will."

I look at her as my mind goes back to the draughty lawyer's room, listening to his will being read, and remember thinking at the time the house must be for some bint he'd got pregnant. I'm quiet for a moment confused between being thankful that at least she'd been safe all this time, and being looked over, and resenting them both for not telling me, it felt like being left out of a secret between people you thought you knew. Emily looks me in the eye. "He was in love with you, you know?"

I nod, "He told me." I relax knowing my earlier fears were stupid and unfounded; it was just Keef being Keef. "He always liked you." I smile at her. "Any more revelations, Fitch? I don't know if my heart can take much more though"

She smiles at me, "No skeletons in my cupboard. " She raises her glass. "Shall I make supper?"

Taking a sip of wine, I nod.

I wander into the lounge as Emily starts to chop an onion, and soon I can hear it sizzling. I'm back at her CDs toying with another crazy idea. The smell distracts me momentarily. "What are you making?"

I hear her above the frying onion. "Thai Prawn Curry, OK?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Wow, " I mutter to myself, then aloud. "Em, Beans on toast would be fine." I hear her throaty chuckle.

"Don't panic, she calls out, "sounds glam, made it so many times, it's no bother, Keef called it my date recipe."

I smile to myself, and wander back into the kitchen. "Date recipe?" I watch her squirm a little.

She stops and turns to me, a slight flush on her face. "Well...erm...I've only made it a couple of times, you know?" she smiles shyly, "I haven't lived like a nun up here."

I nod self consciously, "Does it work?"

She's smiling as she waves me away before she says anything to incriminate herself.

**OooooO**

We're sitting at her ridiculously small dining table in the corner of her lounge, with our plates, a bowl of rice and the curry, a bottle of wine and some bread, it's precariously covered, and we do a dance of handing each other bowls and topping up each other's wine, underneath, Emily stretches out her legs and she collides with mine, she looks at me apologetically "Whoops, sorry"

"It's fine, really." I smile, secretly pleased with the unintentional contact.

The food smells lovely and my stomach growls appreciatively, and as I take my first mouthful, the taste is incredible, I make over-exaggerated noises and my eyes roll upwards.

"Oh my God, Em, this is divine, when did you learn how to cook like this?"

She blushes at my praise, smiles through her fringe at me, "Well, when I got bored of fish fingers and beans, seriously it's just chuck it all in a pan, it's not hard."

I pause between mouthfuls, "Really, this is bloody gorgeous, I point with my fork. "I could get used to this..." My voice trails away as I realise what I've just said. I take a sip of wine. "I didn't mean..."

She nods, "I know what you mean Naoms, its fine."

We eat in companionable silence for a bit, until I suddenly remember my crazy plan. I stand and walk over to her CDs; I pull one out and show it to her. She looks a bit nervous at first, then slowly she nods her head. I unwrap the cellophane off her copy of _Nife_, and slide the CD into the slot; I bring the CD case back over to the table and place it by her. She looks at the back to see the track titles, and the opener, a short intro piece, floods the small room, I laugh, "Speakers by Mike?"

She smiles again, "How did you know?"

I smile back, "In joke."

She scrunches her face in reply, looks at the name of the track "_Elizabeth My Dear"_

As the short song finishes, she speaks quietly "Is this about Effy?"

I nod.

"I was always a bit jealous of her and you, "she takes a sip of wine before continuing, "The friendship you and her had."

"I hardly knew her really, back then." I reply, "hardly spoke anyway."

"You didn't need to, speak, I mean."

The second track has started; _Thought Police._ Emily makes a show of listening, nodding when she finally recognises it, "Oh, yeah I remember, your anti-homophobic song, getting the politics in early, right?

"You know me."

"I liked this when you used to play it at the windmill on an acoustic, sounds good, the proper version."

I bow my head theatrically, "I thank you." Smile.

It suddenly dawns on me, having not heard this album for so long, what's coming next as the last bars of _Thought Police_ fade out, there's a pause and instead of a song, voices fill the speakers. It was a gimmick that the sound engineer had first suggested, filling the blank spaces between tracks with us bantering in the studio. Our manager had persuaded us by telling us the fans would love it, and it would make us seem more human, more accessible. Suddenly there's the noise of a guitar being tuned, it's Sara, then you can hear Mike singing the chord changes of a song whilst playing it on a guitar:

"E minor seventh...E69...Emajor" In my mind's eye I can picture Mike and me huddled around a mike on some folding chairs, Emily smiles as my laugh comes from the speakers, Mike again still singing chord changes only now my bass ones "E5...B5...no the other B5, that's Bsharp..." I laugh again. I still occasionally got it wrong at the point. There's a rattle of fast drums, and my voice sings out.

"Slower Keef, it's a love song innit."

Keef's voice comes clearly through the speakers into the lounge, surreally present to us. "It's got no words Naomi, how can it be a love song?" he laughs.

Mike cuts into our short conversation. "More than words can say, right, Naomi?

"Too right," my voice again, "this is my heart laid out on a plate, make it count, yeah?" Sara interrupts, she's quiet, "Ready... 2 and 3 and" always Sara counting us in.

_All the Things She Said _begins its languid and slow build up, Mike's guitar echoes and is full of reverb, my bass wafts in and out of sync, the drumming slow and dream like. Sara keeping the whole tied to some sort of reality. It is a love song, but not in the puppy dog-fluffy bunny sense, more of a deep breathing- seeing stars after the fuck of your life sense.

I can't look at Emily as this all plays out, I keep my head down stir some rice about my plate with my fork, as the song comes to its slow crashing end, I risk a look, and see her face running with two lines of tears. My eyes go wide.

"Emily."

She comes out of what ever dream was in, and smiles suddenly at me, wipes away her tears with the palms of her hands, she sighs.

""Exquisite timing when I left, then?"

I nod in agreement, "You couldn't have timed it better if you tried."

**OooooO**

After tiding away the dishes, and listening to the rest of the album, Emily commenting on some of the songs she knew from practices in the windmill, and snatches she'd heard on TV shows and the like that she hadn't realised was us, we settled into her small warm lounge, ending up finally sitting on the floor around a photo album, laughing and pointing at old pictures, some from way back in college days, others more recent, more pictures of Katie and her family, some of Panda, and Thomas and a small baby, we're both quiet when Freddie smiles at us from the pages. It's sobering, and our laughter dies away. Emily reaches over and shakes the second bottle, pouting when she realises it's empty. I stretch and stand, bum aching, and I stoop to pull her up,

"C'mon, " I say, "It's late, I'm knackered, I need bed."

She accepts my hand and I pull her up, we end up standing close, and in a moment the atmosphere has changed, I can't help myself, as a pausing just briefly, my eyes going from hers to her lips, move to kiss her, at the last minute, she moves her head slightly to one side, and I end up pecking at the corner of her mouth.

"Don't." She says quietly. A sad look in her eyes. She looks into my eyes. "Sorry, I just can't..."

I interrupt her to spare her an explanation, "Sorry, Em, I didn't mean..."

We finish at the same time, words tumbling out, fading away. Silently we stand, Emily reaches out and takes my hand, "C'mon, I show you your room."

We climb the stairs, and she shows me the bathroom, and as I brush my teeth, she turns on the light to the spare room, and then goes into her own, re-emerging as I'm finishing my teeth in a loose thin vest that doesn't nothing to hide her breasts to my gaze, and as she leans into the sink cleaning her teeth, it gapes to reveal her fully. I look away suddenly embarrassed, and coughing I make a move to my room.

"Night then."

She nods, as she's still brushing, as I go into my room, I hear a rushed, "Sleep tight."

I push the door to, not fully closing it, and moving to the bed, sit down on the edge. I remove my bra underneath my tee-shirt, pulling it through a sleeve, and strip off my jeans and knickers, kicking them into a heap somewhere, I pull the duvet over me, finally relieved to be in a warm bed, and lay waiting for the sleep I know rarely comes to me.

It must be over an hour later, I sense rather than see the door opening, and rolling over see her framed in the door way. I sit up.

"Emily?"

She doesn't answer, instead, takes a couple of steps, over to my bed, and holds out her hand. I take it, and she pulls on it, urging me out of bed. I pull away the duvet, and stand, without releasing my hand; she turns and leads me to her room. Standing by her bed, she closes the door, and coming over to me, she tugs at the hem of my tee-shirt, understanding her mute command, I raise my arms like a child being un-dressed, and she pulls off the tee-shirt in one move. I cover my chest automatically, then smiling briefly, let my hands fall to my sides, her head shakes with amusement at me, and gracefully she sheds her own vest. She climbs into bed, and turns her back to me, and suddenly it dawns on me, how we used to sleep all those years ago, I climb in behind her, and spoon her as she snuggles-wriggles back into me with a contended murmur-sigh. We lay impossibly close, my chest squashed into her back, and her bum pressed firmly into my thighs, it could be erotic, but instead, I slip my arm under her shoulder and wrap my arm around her, pulling her closer still, and she almost purrs, making the sound deep in her belly. I bury my head into her hair at the back of her neck, and breathe deeply, it's both new, her shampoo is different, and at the same time when I catch the scent of Emily herself, achingly familiar. So painful does the lump in my throat arise, that I'm almost bought to tears, and my breath catches. Emily senses me tensing, and almost whispering;

"Shusssh, S'ok, I'm not going anywhere, go to sleep."

In no time I feel her breath even into slumber, my eyes close, and I fall into the sort of sleep I haven't experienced in years.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Guys, really I don't know what to say, your reviews...blew me away. I'm speechless; you're all very kind and generous. Didn't think any-one would take any notice of this. Going to finish this in a couple more chapters. After those reviews, I hope it lives up to your expectations...**

**Note about music. As far as I'm concerned "The End" play whatever music gets **_**you**_** going, but "All the things she said" sounds to me like a mix between The Doves "Firesuite" and Bjork's "All of Nothing." But really, whatever fuck-song you wanna put in there... you go for it.**

The bed dips and rolls, and evens out again, the motion wakes me, and I come to slowly, I half open my eyes, and see Emily in the half shadow from the landing light, rummaging around in the drawers in her wardrobe. She's dressed only in bra and knickers, hair still damp.

"Morning" I croak.

She turns "Hey, sorry. Did I wake you?"

I stretch languorously, and shake my head yawning. "No, it's fine."

Emily goes back to looking for clothes. She must be able to feel me looking at her, as she looks my way over her shoulder. "Still a massive perv, then?"

"I've woken to worse sights." I laugh, and she makes a face.

"Oh yeah, M&S bra, and my grannies pants, very alluring." She's smiling, and as she throws on a thin pullover and plain skirt;"D'you want coffee, or you going to lay around in bed all day?"

I plump up the pillow, "This is a pretty comfy bed, Em, I might stay in here for a bit longer."

"Right." She looks at me for a moment. "Well, the vibrator's in the bedside cabinet, on your left if you get bored." To my open mouth she walks out of the bedroom, scrubbing at her hair with a towel.

"What..?" I roll over and pull the drawer open. "Jesus!"

I join her in the kitchen, and she pours me a coffee. She sips from hers, holding her cup in both hands and I can see the smile playing on her face. I take a couple of sips, can't help but grin lopsidedly at her.

"And you have the cheek to call me a massive perv."

She laughs, "Katie bought it." She pauses for a moment and frowns. "I've never used it!"

I nod sceptically "Right."

Emily laughs at me, "So..." She shrugs, "Really, what plans?"

"Beyond trying to get my card sorted, nothing, what is there to do round here?"

Emily looks doubtful. "The beach is nice..." she shrugs, "that's pretty much it really" She looks at her watch, "Shit, I've got to go."

I set down my cup, "What time will you be back?"

"About six-ish?"

I nod, "right I'll have supper ready, ok?"

She nods at me, and for a moment her face clouds, "You don't have to y'know?" I can't place the tone of her voice, but I shrug

"S'ok, I can cook as well, you won't die of food poisoning."

She smiles, and there's an awkward pause as we're both uncertain about how familiar we can be with each other after the failure of last night's kiss. She shakes her head, and striding over to me, pecks my cheek in an obviously overly friendly way. "I'll see you later, ok?"

**OooooO**

"Hello, Clive Goodman"

Clive is my lawyer, a massive white haired fiercely intelligent man. One of the first people that I'd employed to help me with me contract negotiations with the record label. He was recommended to me by our manager, and it was one of the smartest things I'd ever done, he handed out advice as both a lawyer and a friend, and over the years had become more like a surrogate father figure to me. He knew my business, both public and personal, and I trusted him implicitly.

"Clive, it's Naomi."

"Hmmmm," he pauses, "0191." He quotes, obviously reading the readout on his telephone, "The North East? Have you gone provincial on us?"

I chuckle, "I'm visiting a friend."

There's another longer pause and finally. "Doesn't the fragrant Ms Fitch reside up there these days? Hmmmm"

I laugh along with him."Nothing gets past you does it?" I come clean "I'm staying with her. "

"It's presumably why you engaged me all those years ago. " There's another pause, and for a moment the lawyerly mask drops as he adds. "Good, about bloody time you sorted that out, my girl."

"Clive!" I feign shock, and he has the good grace to pretend to be flustered. He regains his composure "As lovely as it is to chat, can I help you with anything in particular?"

"I've ...erm...Buggered up my Amex card, can you help me get a new one?"

"Oh course, I'll get one of the juniors onto it right away, in the mean time, do you need money?"

"Um, yes, but I don't have access to a bank account, I've got no ID either.

Clive laughs again, "Naomi, my dear, you are your own ID. "he pauses again obviously thinking, then."Does Ms Fitch have a bank account you could use; I could transfer some into that?"

Clive and I exchange some pleasantries after we've sorted out the cash issues, and I finally put the phone down to him, I wander back upstairs to get dressed, and checking through my pockets and bag come up with about twenty quid in notes and coins, enough I reckon for some ingredients. I go through the kitchen writing a shopping list, chuckling to myself at my new found domestication. I feel strangely content. Finally ready, shopping list in hand, I lock the door behind me, and looking out across the road set off for the beach.

I wander aimlessly for a while, and come to collection of rocks buried in the sand; perching on them I breathe deeply and look out to sea. I frown to myself, my mind goes back to last night, and I can't help but run through my mind Emily turning away from me as I tried to kiss her. I'm pretty certain that I was just too quick of the mark, and that Emily just wasn't ready for that sort of intimacy, but part of me is worried that she doesn't want that from me at all, and I can't help but feel slightly lost as I've pinned my hopes on rekindling some sort of feelings in her, and I've no real plans for if she tells me she's not interested.

"Bollocks" I startle some seagulls into flight.

I'm confused; she pulls me to her bed and sleeps naked with me, but then in the morning was at best just friendly.

"Fucks sake Naomi, "I address myself sternly."Just fucking go with it."

**OooooO**

I look around the small living room, and even if I say so myself I think I've done pretty well, dinner cooking, kitchen tidy, wine chilling, all it needs now is some company, and polite conversation, I laugh to myself, and flick through her CDs to find something laid back. As I'm looking I hear the lock turn, and Emily comes in. I call out before turning around.

"Evening Dear, how was your day?" the joke dies in my throat as I see the look of surprise on her face, as she looks around her house, she recovers and smiles thinly at me.

"Hey."

I look everywhere but at her, as she clearly wants to say something, and I'm tense. Suddenly she lets out a breath, and collapsing like a balloon says "I've had a shit day, sorry."

I breathe again, "Nothing a glass of wine won't sort out?"

She nods at me, "yeah, that'd be great, thanks."

We make small talk as we eat my meal, she makes all the right noises and tells me it's nice, but there's clearly something on her mind, and the atmosphere's tense again. Finally I take a deep breath and put my fork on the plate.

"What's on your mind, Emily?"

She looks at me for a bit, and her eyes narrow she swallows her mouthful carefully and takes a sip of wine before answering as if steadying herself "There's ten grand in my bank account, Naomi."

"Ah, right, that was me. Sorry, I was going to say, I wanted some cash before my new card got here..." I trail off as I notice she's shaking her head at me.

"I spent all afternoon trying to figure out where it had come from, I thought the bank had made a cock up, they eventually told me where it was from, and I realised it was you. Where did you get my bank details from Naomi?" she's obviously mad with me, I tread carefully. I wave at the kitchen. "I found a statement..." I make a face of apology at her, as she looks incredulously at me.

"You looked through my stuff?"

"I didn't think you'd mind, sorry."

"You didn't think..." she stops and sighs. "Sounds familiar."

I push my plate away and cross my arms. "What?"

"You, not thinking. "She mirrors my actions and looks away from me, her mouth set.

"D'you want me to go?" I ask quietly.

"No..." she slumps, "I'm confused Naomi, I don't know if I can... "She hesitates. "If I can trust you, and the first thing you do is look through my personal stuff."

"You still don't trust me, do you?" I'm angry all of a sudden, I feel betrayed.

"D'you blame me?" she stands and her anger flares again suddenly, "The last time I spoke to you, you were in bed with the fucking driver." She moves away from the table and stands in the lounge her back to me. I see her shoulders heaving.

I stand myself, "This is about Jasmine?" I sound surprised.

She turns on me, whipping around, and she's clearly barely containing herself, tears have started to fall down her face "No it's not about fucking Jasmine," she lets out a half snorted laugh at the double meaning, she pauses and then with finality says "It's about Sara."

"Sara?" I'm confused.

"Did you fuck _her_ Naomi?" she almost shouts at me, and suddenly it becomes horribly clear to me, as I realise that we're about to have the fight that Emily wanted to have all those years ago, but of course couldn't, because I was never there...

I take a deep breath and realise that I'm going to have be very careful. I decide that honesty is the best policy and I'm unable to look at her as I begin. "Yes, I did." I stop as I hear her snort a "Ha" and I can hear the soft noises of Emily trying hard not to cry too obviously.

I move over to where she's standing and place a hand on her shoulder, she flinches, and tries to shake it off, but I grip her gently. "I did fuck her, " I begin gently, "on a beach in Greece, about two years ago, long after you'd left, she was curious I think, and I was there. It was the one and only time, OK?" I take a breath, "I can't believe you thought I was seeing her behind your back. That you think I'd do that to you again."

Emily turns to me, and the tears are running fast and she has ugly strings of goop at the corners of her mouth as she sniffs snot and wipes her nose, "D'you know how many time we made love in the last three months of our relationship?"

I close my eyes, and realise that Emily needs to do this, and that if I'm to build any sort of trust with her, then tonight, I need to let her do it. I shake my head, "No."

"Twice". She spits at me, and I'm horribly aware of what's coming next as I remember being oh so proud of the photo I showed her yesterday as she takes a shuddering breath and says," And the last fucking time ended up on the cover of that fucking album of yours."

I nod, I can't say anything that will take the hurt away, and instead turn her around, and pull her into a hug, she resists at first pushing away feebly, but then relents, and sobbing hugely, falls into my embrace. I feel her wet face against my tee-shirt as her shoulders heave and she moans into me. "You left me there, in that fucking windmill; I wanted us to be together, and you just left me to be with them, I didn't care about the music or the band, or anything." She sobs, and her voice goes quite as she finally says "I just wanted you, I just wanted us."

I close my eyes, and let the small woman in my arms cry her heart out.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N the end of this chapter is cheese. I offer no defense of it. We're not quite done yet. Thanks again for all the lovely reviews and stuff, you are all very kind. Eeeee that Naomi, what's she like, eh?**

_Old dust, old dirt, they're mine and only mine  
I am just some mortal; you are so divine  
You control the game without playing it right._

_Oh oh oh oh….._

I push at my heavy front door; it starts to swing open and stops, jammed on something after only a few inches. I put my shoulder to it, and shove as hard as I can, and it shifts grudgingly another foot or so. It's enough for me to slide through. Once inside I shove the door closed, and pull the envelope from underneath it that was causing it to wedge shut, I turn it over in my hands. It's an invitation to apply for a credit card. I screw it up angrily and throw the ball of shiny advertising as far into the darkness of the garage as I can.

"Fuck Off" I shout after it into the echoing gloom.

I flick on the large sodium light switches in the garage and they come alive with a satisfyingly B movie hum, slowly flickering into life, glowing dully orange. I start to pick out the familiar shapes of the agricultural vehicles, the large yellow combine shines under a light like a museum piece, I notice it has started to leak hydraulic oil again, and I vow to finally call in some auctioneers to start to get rid of them, the joke wearing thin, even on me. I walk past them, and into the stair well that takes me past the vodka lake, and up again into the main part of my house. I dump my bag on the large mixing desk, and rummage inside it retrieving my newest acquisition. I place it carefully on the desk in front of me and eye it suspiciously. I reach out and turn it on and the small mobile comes to life, playing a jolly tune, its screen doing a clever display of graphics. I raise my eyebrows and wonder whether it'll do a little dance as well. I pick up the bag that's slid to the floor and climbing up through the stairwell again, go past the kitchen, and up into my bedroom; my foot kicks the empty bottle of Stolichnaya that I drank here only a few days ago. I stand it upright on the floor, and aiming for my bed throw myself onto it. I pull the cover over me, and fall into a dreamless sleep.

"_Did you fuck her Naomi?"_

I start awake, and breathe heavily once through my nose. I have a headache. It's dark again outside, and I squint at my watch, As I sit there I cough, and the noise makes my head rattle, I have to close my eyes for a moment to let my world stop blurring, and I groan aloud. Stumbling down to the bathroom, I splash water on my face, and finally look at myself in the bathroom mirror, the face that looks back at me is puffy from the tears that I shed all the way here…As I ran from a sleeping Emily, ran from her accusations, and from her anger at my betrayal of our love. I cannot look at myself for long, and hurriedly swing the door of the cabinet open to retrieve the paracetamol that are kept there. I throw two into my mouth and take a long gulp of water straight from the tap. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I go down the stairwell, and into the kitchen. I look through the cupboards and the fridge more out of hope than knowledge of their contents, and finding a packet of super-noodles, fill a kettle, watch it boil, and set them stewing. I go back to the mobile, and I'm surprised to see that I have a text message. I finally work out how to open it, and realise it's just from the operator, and I delete it. Working the small keyboard with my thumb like a pro, I dial the only number I know off by heart.

_Raise high in me what once did sink below  
All dark within now radiantly glows  
Come on take me back all that time ago_

_Oh oh oh oh…_

"Hello, Clive Goodman"

"Clive it's Naomi."

"Naomi? Twice in two days, surely my cup runneth over." He pauses again, and I can hear the smile in his voice as he says. "A mobile? Finally joining us in the 21st century?"

"Something like that," I mutter. "Clive, can you set up a meeting with the record company for me? I think it's about time I started working again, time I got back out there."

Clive has obviously sensed my mood, and says calmly "They'll be pleased to hear from you. " then more quietly "How's the Coast?"

"I'm back in London." I reply

"Ah," Clive is quieter, "Things not go to well?"

"You could say that," I nod to myself "Things were a bit shit."

"I'm sorry Naomi, really I am." I can hear him fiddling with a pen, clicking the nib in and out, a nervous tic, "Some advice as a friend?"

"Go on." I rub my head, headache still pounding, drugs yet to take hold of it.

"Don't hit the vodka too hard, OK?"

I smile thinly and nod, "Yes Dad, I promise." I say sarcastically

"Good, I'll call you once the meeting is set up, Ok? Shall I use this number?"

"Yep, that's fine."

_Our love was just one of your discarded jewels  
You think back to its price and oh you feel a fool  
But in that certain light, it had looked so beautiful_

_Oh oh oh oh..._

**OoooO**

A mobile starts ringing, and it's a while until I realize that it's mine, I reach over, turning off the mixers.

"Hello?"

"Naomikins."

"Cook, how did you get this number?"

"Contacts, Naomi, contacts. You at home?"

"You know I am."

"Right, see you in ten minutes."

We're sat in the kitchen eating our way through a take away curry large enough for a family of four. He's bought beers and a ridiculously large Black Forest Gateaux, which is currently defrosting, dripping cream all over the floor. He shovels a large helping of curry and rice into his mouth and washing it down with a beer, belches loudly. He ignores my look of disgust.

"Fucked it up with Emily, then?"

I stop, fork half way to my mouth. "Jesus Cook, come to the point why don't you." I cross my arms and look at him carefully. "Roundview Mafia still keeping you in the loop then?"

He smiles "Roundview Mafia?

My eyes roll upwards "Oh, C'mon; Katie, Effy," I pause "Emily," I swallow unconsciously, "thick as thieves the lot of them."

He laughs "We've know each other too long to be playing silly bollocks, girlie."

I nod at his sage words. "Yep, well and truly fucked up." I take a long drag of beer, belch equally loudly.

He looks at me for a while before saying more seriously "We've been friends for a long time kid, so what I'm about to say, I'll say bluntly." He pauses; then to my utter surprise says sharply "You got what you fucking deserved by all accounts. "

"Cook!"

He puts up a hand to stop me. "Life goes on." He says with the air of a man deliberately putting a brave face on something hardly bearable, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small bag of white powder. "I've a small sample of incredibly pure coke, care to indulge?"

We end up as usual, playing table tennis. He hits the small white ball hard with plenty of top spin, and as I swing wildly, it goes flashing past me. As usual I'm spending most of my time chasing the ball around the floor rather than playing it. I toss it back to him, I crouch and I stare at the point on the table where I expect the ball to land. We've been dissecting my recent disastrous trip on and off as we play;

"Even I could tell you were jealous of me and Sara, Naomi." He says suddenly.

I stand "Jealous? Of you? Fuck off" I make a face.

"Oh c'mon, no wonder Emily fucking suspected, if I did." He smacks the ball hard again, and again I look for it on the tiles. I throw it back.

"I couldn't give a shit who you were fucking, Cook." I lie, "I was too busy with the album to pay any notice of who you were shagging."

Cook tosses the ball in the palm of his hand "And that was the other half of your problem, wasn't it?"

I stare back at him, the anger rising. "Oh fuck sake, what is this? Have a pop at Naomi week?"

Cook serves the ball, and somehow I manage to return his serve, the small ball hitting him square in the face. I can't help but smile viciously. Cook notices my look, and shaking his head sadly throws his bat onto the table and walks away

"Oh, C'mon you wuss." I cat-call after him.

I hear him take the stairs two at a time, and then hear him walk around above me in the studio –living area. Suddenly the speakers in the garage burst into life; I recognize the opening bars of _Them and Us_ our last album, the volume increases suddenly, almost painfully loud, and shortly after Cook re-emerges, pulling on his coat.

"How fucking dare you put that on" My bitterness catches even me by surprise and I feel the hot prick of tears form at the corners of my eyes.

Cook turns just once, "You made her listen to _Nife, _" he retorts. "Call me when you're back with the rest of the human race, Naomi." He walks away down the garage, and moments later, I hear the door slam heavily.

I fall to floor and edge to the corner of the garage trying to block out the sounds of the music, The tears flow thick and fast and I'm not certain whether I'm crying or laughing as I remember the name of the opening track : _"With Friends like These"_

**OoooO**

**6 Months Later**

I come down the stairs to the garage, well, what used to be the garage, and even now the changes still take me by surprise sometimes. All the old tractors have gone now, and the mixing desk that used to be upstairs on the first floor has come downstairs, and a proper engineers desk installed with it, in a proper booth, cost me a bloody fortune, I wave absently mindedly at the two engineers setting up in there. I walk past the rehearsal and recording space, and carry on towards a small partitioned area. I knock gently and nod to the night-nurse sitting at the desk finishing off the report she'll leave for her replacement who'll come this afternoon, in the meantime, Mike and I will look after her.

"Is she awake?"

The nurse nods and knocking on the door of her bedroom I walk into the darkened space. I see a small figure lying amongst the blankets and loops of drips and wires connected to various bits of machinery.

"Hey," I say softly, "You awake?"

Sara rolls towards me, and gives me a weak smile, and nods. "Hey, yourself, "she croaks.

"You want some water?" I ask gently and sweep a piece of hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear, I can feel her skull underneath her fragile skin. She shakes her head, "Got any of that Vodka you used to stash here?"

I shake my head, "All went bar one bottle I'm afraid, and that's for some-one else, sorry." I smile, and wait as she coughs for a bit. I hold her hand. "You ready for today? You sure you still want to do this?"

She nods again, "do me a favour though, she pauses as she has a coughing fit again. "Put some lippy on me?"

With the help of the nurse I wheel her out to the recording space, and tuck her into a corner where she can see what's going on, I place some ear defenders on her bed so I can put them on later, and making sure she's comfy I stroll over to the others. Mike has become our drummer now, and his simple kit sits to my left in the same place that Keef used to sit, he's setting up his mike as he still does most of the singing, I look around as I hear a shout from the door, and see the tall figure of Steve approaching his bass in his hand, he smiles as he approaches. Mike had been in contact with him, and he'd jumped at the chance at playing with his old band again, which left me playing guitar, I role I was still nervous with, but musically I was keeping it simple. We run through some basic sound checks, and happy enough with the sound we leave to go and meet and greet.

The record company had insisted on today, We were still a bit nonplussed about the whole thing, but the idea of a re-launch of The End and a new album had meant the publicity machine going in full swing again, and today was an invitation only run through of some of our new material to a select group of promoters, suits, and music journalists.

I watched as lawyers and business suits chatted to record executives, and uniformed waitresses offered around canapés and drinks. After a short while Steve, Mike and I excused ourselves and started to set up. I ran over to Sara, barging past a couple of people talking to her, and slipped on her defenders, squeezing her hand, I walked back to band. Steve wanders over. "She alright there?"

I nodded "Yeah, let's keep it tight yeah; otherwise we'll never hear the end of it from her." Steve and Mike both laugh. I wander over to the mike, and tapping it, I start to intro the music. Out of the corner of my eye I see Cook come into the booth, taking up his usual position behind one of the engineers. He turns to talk to some-one, and I see him hold his hand to pull whichever bint it is that he's persuaded to sit on his lap for the duration.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, "I begin" this is _"I wish I was Some-one Better"_ there's a short ripple of feint applause as Mike counts us in; the drums are percussive and sharp, and Steve's bass pounding, my guitar edgy.

_Made a mistake  
I made a mistake  
I wear the scars to show my shame_

I'm concentrating hard playing fast, making sure I hit the chords right, Steve moves over to me, and we play together tightly, Mike continues

_What should I do?  
What should I do?  
When I'm the one who can't get through_

What should I do?  
What should I do?  
When I'm the one hey, I'm the one to blame.

Feeling more confident as the chorus arrives, I chance a look up, and my eyes are instantly drawn to the booth, and I see her standing next to Cook, watching me intently. I look away momentarily flustered, and the song continues, I can't do anything but carry on:

_I (woo ooh oo)  
Can't (woo ooh oo)  
See (woo ooh oo)  
Past (woo ooh oo)  
This (woo ooh oo)  
Chance (woo ooh oo)  
For us to (woo ooh oo)  
Reconcile these doubts! (woo ooh oo)  
They've all (woo ooh oo)  
Gone on (woo ooh oo)  
For far too long (woo ooh oo)  
Yeah it goes on and on and on and on (woo ooh oo)  
On and on and on and on (woo ooh oo)_

My sole singing contribution is backing vocals, and I manage not to screw them up, and I keep my head down, making sure of my playing. I risk a look, and see her talking to Cook; He nods at whatever she says.

The song repeats itself and we march on to the outro, and as Mike sings out the song, I can't help but join in, and both Mike and Steve look over towards me.

_I wish I was someone better _

The song finishes and as the audience applause is louder I take the opportunity to take off my guitar, and walk over to the booth, Mike Calls out "Naomi, what…" he appeals to Steve "We're still playing."

"Back in a minute" I reply over my shoulder. I head for the booth, and I start to shake as I approach the door, Cook beats me to it, and it's opened and bringing the confused and complaining engineers with him by their shirt collars, says to me "I think you need privacy, yes?"I nod mutely, and walk into the booth.

She stands to one side, arms crossed across herself, she looks at me once, and sighing, unfolds herself to rummage in her bag, she hands me an envelope. When I look confused, she taps it.

"Your card, it came a couple of days after you legged it."

There's an uncomfortable silence, as I fiddle with the envelope. "Thanks, " I mutter gracelessly.

She looks towards the ceiling, and exhaling slowly "Did you mean that?"

"Mean what?"

"The song, " she replies, nods to where Mike and Steve are watching us intently "You made a mistake."

I nod silently "Yes, it pretty much sums it up doesn't it?" She nods herself in reply. There's a silence that she fills eventually, "I had this big speech prepared, I was going to tell you about how I was confused when you burst back into my life, and how I couldn't help myself, shouting at you… but then I see you, and it all goes to shit. "

I start to smile. "That sounded like a speech to me."

She laughs once in reply, rubs her forehead, "Yeah." Nods in agreement. "What are we doing?"

I shrug, "Honestly?" I ask, and she nods at me. "I know I'm a fuck up, I know I'm stupid, and I do all the wrong things, and I know I can only talk when I write songs, but really, I love you more than anything in the world, and I just want you to try to love me back." I risk a look and she's crying, and her lips are quivering, and as she walks towards me I can't help but hope that she doesn't turn her head away this time.

She doesn't.


End file.
